Draco and Hermione
by Damian Cross
Summary: "He could not deny it any more. He was in love with her. But that knowledge only increased the gap between them." HG/DM rated M for tiny bit of violence.


**Draco and Hermione**

* * *

_**December 25**__**th**__** 1997**_

He woke to the sounds of war and chains. Even from where he was, isolated by six feet of dirt, a barred door and no windows, he could hear the shouts and explosions that could only be from the enemy practising, preparing for battle. Preparing to kill him and everybody on his side of the war. He allowed himself a small chuckle. It truly was a miracle that they left him alive- they even provided him three meals a day! But he was not naïve to think that they were lenient; he knew that it was the calm before the storm. Sooner or later, when the war was over, he would die. He would die by the hands of the enemy in public, simply because he bore the Dark Mark on his left arm, or he would be murdered in secret by the Dark Lord for failing him. Either way, the future wasn't going to be pleasant for him. If he even had a future.

To his surprise, he heard footsteps approaching. His hearing was acute now, having to rely on it for the past three days. There were no windows to illuminate this rotten cell, and he was glad for it; some things were best left unseen.

Whoever was coming towards him was almost certainly a woman, judging from the light footsteps. He listened closely for a second pair, but there were none; the woman was alone. His curiosity aroused, he struggled to stand up. The chains that were firmly clamped around his ankles and his wrists to the wall behind him were almost too heavy for him to lift. But he managed just in time to see the knob turning on the door. Despite his lowly status as a prisoner, he was determined to show them that he still had dignity left. He was not his father's son for nothing- he would be poised and graceful; the perfect gentleman, even if this woman was to be his executor.

The door finally creaked open, revealing a short, slender female whose wand was ignited a dull green light. He was grateful that she hadn't turned the light on full blast, as it would have surely blinded him. He let his eyes adjust for a second or two, before studying this foreign girl before him.

And a girl she was; she still bore the youthful, round face that a woman no longer possessed. He tried to guess her age- Sixteen? Seventeen? She was too old to be ignorant about the seriousness of war, but young enough to have hope shining in her eyes. He sighed inwardly. This girl was too young to be visiting prisoners of war. Far too young. He let out another chuckle as he considered this thought- it really was hypocritical of him, seeing as he himself was seventeen.

He let his eyes linger on her face, not caring that she was starting to feel uncomfortable from the intensity of his gaze. It had been a long time since he'd seen a girl his own age, and so he wasn't altogether sure whether she would be classified as plain or ugly. She certainly was attractive though, with her brown hair in ringlets, framing her heart-shaped face, resting just below her shoulders. She had large, pretty eyes with long eyelashes, though her eyebrows needed a bit of plucking. Her cheeks were tinged a healthy pink with the barest of freckles brushed across her small pointed nose, and her lips were full, albeit dried and cracked at the corners.

"Are you going to keep staring at me, Malfoy?" The girl demanded, hands on hips. She had, while he was studying her, sent up a globe of light and tucked her wand safely away from him.

He had not spoken for a long time; he had to try a few times before he could manage to whisper, "You know my name?" His steely grey eyes narrowed, trying to place this girl- he was certain he'd never met her before.

"Of course I do. We were at Hogwarts together. Oh don't pretend to not recognise me, Malfoy," the girl snapped- obviously she had a short temper- "You've certainly made it known that you hated me."

"I did?" His voice cracked.

"Yes. Yes you did. Remember 'Mudblood'? 'Potter's little sidekick?' 'Miss know-it-all?" She was positively fuming now.

Draco Malfoy tilted his head to one side, "Granger? Hermione Granger?" He certainly did know her- he had quite enjoyed taunting her back when everything seemingly revolved around him. It was a form of entertainment that had made his day. He smiled at the memories- not because they were humorous, but because they reminded him of better days.

"Who else?" She brushed past him impatiently, "I'm to take you to them. If you try anything, know that I'll make your life miserable."

He didn't doubt her ability to hex and torture him. He'd seen her cast some really nasty spells- never the Unforgivables of course, none of the wizards and witches from this side used them, but she seemed to be fond of _Rictusempra, _the tickling charm- no doubt she liked seeing her enemies squirm in discomfort, and at the same time refraining from laughing. Whenever he saw her do it to a fellow comrade, he always paused and watched- it was really rare to hear a Death Eater laugh.

"Them?" He asked as she unshackled him.

"Them- the leaders on my side," she bound his hands magically and frog-marched him outside. "I'll be blindfolding you, by the way."

He bent down so she could tie a piece of cloth around his head- he was a good foot taller than her. She led him up a set of steps, and, judging from the texture, across a grassy field. The sounds of practising had ceased and were instead replaced by dishes clanging and noisy chewing; lunch was being served.

He felt the ground and temperature change, and knew that he was now inside a building. Evidently, this was where the Leaders were, as Hermione stepped back and removed the blindfold.

He blinked. Sitting in front of him were people he all recognised: Kingsley was sitting in the middle, between McGonagall and Lupin. The Weasley father and Moody sat on McGonagall's side, and Potter and Hagrid on Lupin's side. His eyes fixated on Harry Potter, who looked so out of place amongst the adults.

"Draco Malfoy," Moody said, his tone reserved, "son of Lucius, is that correct?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Death Eater? Took the mark, didn't you? Tried to kill Albus in your sixth year, is that correct?"

Again, Draco nodded.

"Speak up boy!" Moody barked, "this isn't some game you know!"

"I know it isn't," said Draco. His eyes were watering from the bright lamps, and his stomach growled as he caught sight of the dishes set out in front of them. "It's war."

He noticed Harry and Hermione exchanging a glance, but didn't bother to try and interpret what it meant.

"Why don't you sit down?" McGonagall summoned a chair behind him, "_sit,"_ she said firmly when he remained standing.

Reluctantly, he obeyed. His eyes flickered from her weary face to the steaming food. He licked his lips to stop himself from letting a whimper escape. He would not resort to begging, no matter how dire his situation was.

"Would you like to eat something Mister Malfoy?" Draco had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing out loud; McGonagall had adopted the special tone she reserved for her students.

"No thank you, _Professor,_" he replied, his eyes dancing mischievously. It seemed that being locked up in a grotty, damp prison with only himself for company had done wonders to his sense of humour- he now possessed one.

"Well," McGonagall was looking extremely miffed, "if that's the case, I hope you don't mind if we eat in front of you."

"Of course I don't, Professor, I already had cold porridge leftovers not six hours ago; I'm not hungry at all."

He caught Harry rolling his eyes, but wisely chose not to comment. There was a few seconds of silence as the people surveyed him while they ate. Draco felt his cheeks heat up; he really wasn't used to so much attention. It was extremely unnerving.

At last Moody broke the silence. "We want answers," he said, uncorking a small vial of a clear liquid. Draco guessed that it contained Veritaserum.

"I'm afraid I won't be providing any," he answered calmly, "The Dark Lord does not reveal his secrets to failures."

"Failures?" This time it was Arthur Weasley who spoke, "Can you please explain that?"

Draco turned so he was looking at the man straight in the eyes. "I'm a failure," he said calmly, "I refused to take his orders, and therefore I'm a failure."

"You… refused Him? _Voldemort_?" Hermione's voice was barely louder than a whisper, "Why?"

Draco studied her for a moment, his gaze unwavering. She bit her lip as her eyes locked with his unwillingly. "I do not take pleasure in torturing others, thank you very much." He blinked, allowing her to glance away in relief.

She was stunned, as were the rest of them. Draco couldn't blame them for their reactions; he knew that they all stereotyped Death Eaters as murderous maniacs, which was true in most cases- the only person he knew who despised dirtying their own hands was his father.

"I don't believe you, boy," Moody was the first to recover, as was expected from a paranoid ex-Auror. "Drink this." He tipped a few drops of the truth serum into a goblet of water and handed it over.

Draco shrugged, "Fine by me. Just don't be disappointed when you don't get the results you want." He gulped down the contents, immediately feeling the potion working as his whole body relaxed and his mind cleared.

The interrogation lasted for a whole fifteen minutes before Moody was convinced that Draco truly knew nothing regarding Voldemort's plans. He grumbled with disappointment, "Should've left him," he muttered darkly, "useless boy."

"I did warn you," Draco arched an eyebrow. "If you don't mind, can I please be escorted back to my lovely cell?"

McGonagall gave him a stern look. "No," she said firmly, "I'll not have anybody idling about. You _will_ partake in chores- goodness knows we need some help about here."

"I'm afraid that's a terrible idea," he said smoothly, "I'm a horrible cook, and I've never cleaned before. It's better if you left me alone."

"Absolutely not! Miss Granger, I hear that the Healer tent needs help, is that correct?" Hermione gave a small nod, "Perfect. I'm afraid you'll have to be in charge of keeping an eye on him."

"I don't mind, as long as he behaves himself. Excuse me," she motioned for Draco to follow her outside.

"No blindfold?" He asked, "I'm honoured."

"Oh shut up," She snapped. "Be grateful that they didn't torture you- I certainly would have. In here." She nodded her head towards a small white tent. "That's where you'll be helping out."

He went in and looked about, pleasantly surprised that everything was clean and tidy. "No patients today?" he asked. "Then what am I to do?"

Hermione led him into a small room at the back. "We're low on several potions," she said, opening up a drawer, "I'll give you a list of ingredients that we need and the instructions."

Hermione gave up trying to find what she wanted and instead pointed her wand at the desk, "_Accio _List."

She placed the piece of parchment on the table and, not wanting to be in his presence any longer, impatiently told him where he would find the ingredients at. "And don't try to escape, Malfoy," she said threateningly, "Moody put more than Veritaserum in your drink. If you cross the boundaries, we'll know. If you try to tell your little friends about our whereabouts, be rest assured that you'll never survive to see another day again. Have a nice day," she gave him one last disgusted look and exited the tent.

"Charming lady," he muttered, wondering how he was going to hold the bottles with his hands still bound behind his back. "Oh well, better get started."

* * *

**January 21****st****, 1998**

He was finally moved to better living quarters this morning. He looked around the tiny room- it was just big enough to hold a bed and a small wooden trunk. The wooden floor was splinted, the wall paper was peeling, and there were holes in the ceiling. He preferred his underground cell to this dump.

He'd been living here at the enemy camp for nearly a month now, and he'd only spoken barely three sentences to the others. People avoided him like a plague. Even Hermione refused to talk to him, preferring to write down her orders on a sheet of parchment and pinning it to the board rather than come face-to-face with him.

He ate his meals alone, sitting underneath an old cedar tree that he'd grown quite fond of. He often went there- he liked the silence and the feel of the cold wintry wind on his skin.

He was so used to solitude, that when he visited the potion stores after breakfast, he jumped when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Relax Malfoy," it was Hermione, and she had a small smile on her face, to his immense surprise. "I need your help in the tent. _Now_." She said forcefully.

It was the first time she'd ever willingly spoke to him. Curious, but slightly pleased, he followed her into the familiar white tent.

There were three people lying on the beds, none of whom he recognised. They were all clutching their stomachs and groaning with pain. He recoiled with disgust. "What's wrong with them?"

Hermione shrugged into her Healer's robe, giving him a glare. "They accidentally spilled some poison on their body. I need you to wear this," she handed him a similar robe, "I know you don't have any training, so all I need you to do is retrieve the potions that I need and hand me my wand when I tell you to."

Reluctantly, he put on the robe, which looked ridiculous on him because it was three sizes too small. Hermione bit back a laugh when she saw him. She mustn't be seen acting friendly to him

"Come over to Lucas' right side," she ordered, "stand there and hold his arms down." She took out her wand and waited for him to shuffle to where she'd directed him. "Good. Lucas," she said in a kinder tone, "I'm going to have to see what damage was done to your body. This is going to a hurt a bit, but I promise I won't take long. You ready?" She asked Draco, who was scowling.

"Yes," he muttered.

Hermione, very efficiently, ripped Lucas' robe at the stomach and jabbed her wand into his belly. His skin was mottled green and had a foul-smelling liquid oozing out of the yellow boils that dotted his entire torso. Draco gagged at the sight.

The wand glowed for a second, illuminating Hermione's furrowed brow and pinched lips as she concentrated. Lucas thrashed in pain as she moved the wand over his body. "_Hold him_," she hissed at Draco, when an arm nearly clipped her on the shoulder. Draco moved to comply, but seemed determined to not look at either of them. His left arm shook as he used all his strength to stop Lucas from getting free.

At last the light faded away and Hermione wiped the sweat from her forehead. "Malfoy, get me a goblet and a flask of Levamentiserum. It should be labelled, but it's a blue-"

"-blue translucent liquid, I know," he said curtly. He released Lucas' arms and walked over to the cupboard that stored all the potions. Hermione saw that he was pursuing his lips to prevent himself from vomiting. Malfoy correctly chose the potion, grabbed a goblet off the shelf and thrust them at Hermione's outstretched hands.

"We have two other patients," She reminded him. He grimaced, but didn't say anything.

Malfoy gingerly helped Lucas sit up as Hermione tipped the goblet bit by bit so the man could drink the potion. "This will only prevent you from hurting, and stop the poison from spreading," she told Lucas, "I will extract the poison out of your body once I've attended to Janice and Thom."

Lucas managed to nod weakly, before slumping back against his pillows.

"Malfoy-" she started to say, but saw that he was already standing next to Janice. "Same thing as before," she told him.

Ten minutes later, Malfoy tore off the sweat-stained robe and tossed it into the washing basket. "I'm out of here," he informed Hermione, before storming outside into the fresh air.

He headed straight to the cedar tree, breathing heavily, trying to block out the grotesque images that kept popping up in his mind. He'd seen his fair share of corpses, but all of them had been fresh, and not rotting. He always shut his eyes when Nagini was feeding- nobody except the Dark Lord and Bellatrix had the stomach for such a sight.

Hermione had extracted the poison out of the three people by making them drink a small potion. This potion coaxed the potion out of the body's system, unfortunately by means of the skin's pores. Draco swallowed as he replayed the scene in his head- little acidic green liquid drops, little by little pushed out from underneath their mottled skin, staining the bed sheets, forming a puddle on the ground… He gulped down a whole lungful of air, struggling not to throw up.

"Malfoy!" It was Hermione again, and she was walking briskly towards him. "Get back in here, now!"

"No," he said firmly, "I've had enough. I will brew potions, gather ingredients… anything but this."

"Yes," she insisted. "You must come and help me. There are two more people who need my attention, and Rowena and Ursa are not available at the moment. I'm not asking you to heal them; I'm asking you to assist me."

Draco shook his head. "I refuse."

"I'm afraid you don't have a say in this matter," she said coldly, "Minerva assigned you to me, so you have to obey my orders. All you have to do right now is clean my wand when I need you to."

Draco glanced at her. "Clean? That's all I have to do?"

She nodded, exasperated. "Yes! Now come quickly." She walked away, beckoning for him to follow her.

Back in the tent once more, Draco donned a new set of Healer's robes and stood by, looking everywhere except at the patients, while Hermione examined each one and healed them. She would hold out her wand between jabs and spells for him to clean off the blood and god-knows-what, and he would comply by wiping it off with a piece of cloth. He was still not allowed a wand.

Hermione ground her teeth in frustration as Malfoy dropped her wand for the fourth time. "Hold it properly!" she snapped, "Every minute is vital!"

Draco bent down and retrieved the wand with his right hand. He clumsily wiped it with his left before returning it back it its impatient owner.

That night, when Hermione finally allowed him to rest, Draco slumped down onto a stool in the corner of the tent. She watched him with guarded eyes; she was still suspicious of him.

"Thank you," she finally said quietly, "for helping me today."

He shrugged, "It wasn't like I wanted to."

Her eyes flashed angrily, but she didn't say anything. "Do you want a butterbeer?" She asked, trying to keep her temper in check. After all, he _had _helped her, albeit reluctantly.

"Thank you," he was still not looking at her. He was staring down at his hands, which were clasped firmly on his lap, the right one covering the left.

Hermione summoned two bottles. "Here," she said, holding one out to him.

He muttered a 'thanks' and took it with his left hand. It immediately fell on to the ground as soon as Hermione let go of it. She stared at him. "You're hand!" she gasped. "You're hurt!"

Draco let out a hollow laugh. "It's been hurting since I came here," he said bitterly. "I am a failure, and the Dark Lord does not tolerate failures."

Hermione's healer's instinct took over and she took his hand, examining it. She rolled up his sleeves and looked at how the Dark Mark had blurred so that it was almost recognisable. His left arm and hand were bruised, and his skin was blackened and brittle. She closed her eyes and fleetingly remembered how he'd only take things with his right hand, and how whenever she thrust her wand at his left hand for him to clean, he'd drop it.

"Can you move it at all?" She whispered, lightly trailing her wand up and down his arm.

"I can't feel anything right now. Which is a blessing. It hurt like hell before." He seemed disinterested with the injury.

"Why didn't you say anything?" She yelled, "I could have prevented it from spreading!"

"No you couldn't," He said calmly, "its dark magic."

Hermione rolled down his sleeves and dropped his arm, watching it fall lifeless back onto his lap. "It's still spreading, isn't it?"

He nodded, "Normally I have three months before it claims my other arm, and then a week before it spreads to my heart and kills me. But," he shrugged, "He was feeling particularly pissed off that day, and he double dosed me. It should claim my right arm in about two weeks."

Hermione felt like slapping him; did he not treasure his own life? How could he talk about dying so freely when he was afraid to look at patients?

"I'm going to amputate your arm," she said firmly, "It's the only way to save your life."

He stood up, his tall form shadowing hers. "No," he said coldly. "I won't allow you to."

"I'm not asking for permission, Malfoy," she retorted, "I'm not going to let another person die in front of me."

He glared at her, his cold grey eyes sending chills down her spine. "It's my life," he gritted out. "It's my choice."

"So what, are you just going to give up living then?" Hermione demanded, "you have a whole life laid out in front of you, and you're just going to throw all that away?"

"What makes you think I'll be able to live after the war, Granger?" He turned around so he wouldn't see her face, "I'm just going to be killed, no matter which side wins."

Hermione fell silent. She knew that it was the truth. Moody was still bent on punishing Malfoy for his attempted murder of his dearest friend, even though Harry claimed that Malfoy was forced to.

"But-"

"-Good night, Granger," he brushed past her, "thanks for giving me the butterbeer."

* * *

**January 31****st ****–March 30****th****, 1998**

Draco avoided Hermione as much as possible. He disliked the sympathising glances she sent him, and hated the fact that she now treated him as a cripple.

One thing he was grateful for though, was that she never asked him to assist her again. Once more he was left to his own devices, receiving orders through a piece of parchment, not seeing anybody at close quarters. The cedar tree continued to be his favourite place to hide, and provided a sort of comfort to him that no other place could.

He spent his days wandering around within the boundaries of the camp, gathering the necessary herbs and ingredients, shutting himself in the storage room, brewing potions beneath the ever-silent cedar tree leaves. He was almost happy here, even if he was still treated like a prisoner- the isolation gave him a sense of peacefulness, and provided relief from his growing pain.

The curse was spreading quickly now- it had spread from his left shoulder to his right collar bone. He no longer could lift his left arm, and his right hand was beginning to feel heavy and bruised. It was only a matter of time before he lost both his limbs.

"Malfoy," it was Hermione again, her soft sympathetic voice burning his ears. She was standing afar, knowing that he now treated the cedar tree as his own territory.

"What?" He asked rudely.

"I wouldn't have asked you, but I have no other choice. I need your help again."

He glared, but relented and followed her back into the tent. All the beds were full of ailing patients, with injuries spanning from poisonings to broken bones and fevers. With difficulty, he wrapped the robe around his body, ignoring Hermione's worried looks. His job today was to fetch the potions when she needed him and to clean her wand regularly, much like what he had to do the last time. Unfortunately he was slower this time, on account of his damaged arms.

When the last of the patients were sent away, and all the bed sheets were replaced and cleaned, Hermione helped Malfoy out of his robe and watched as he tiredly sat down, nursing his right hand.

"Something needs to be done about it, Malfoy," she said hesitantly. She remembered the way he had adamantly refused her help, and could not understand why he didn't value his own life.

"I'm not having my arm amputated," he said firmly.

"Why not?" She sat down opposite him. He was glad she wasn't pushing him, and that she was not mad. She only seemed merely curious.

"Because then I'll be a cripple," Malfoy answered shortly. "I hate having the feeling where I'm inferior to others. I dislike the way people treat those with disabilities, as if they don't have a mind, as if they don't have feelings, as if they don't have _dignity_." He spat the last word out. Hermione suspected that it was the last part that he was most worried about.

"Nobody is going to think you don't have dignity when only have one arm," Hermione said. "But they will when they find out you don't value your own life."

He turned towards her, his right hand running through his hair, messing it up. She found herself unable to tear her gaze away from the movement- it was strangely hypnotising and comforting.

"I _do_ value my own life," he said, so quietly that she barely heard him, "and that is why I want to choose the way I die, and when I die. I refuse to be killed as an enemy by you, and I refuse to be murdered in front of my family by the Dark Lord."

Hermione turned away so he wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes. "So, in the end, you want to end your life," she whispered.

"You'll never understand," he stood up, watching as Hermione's body stiffen as she saw his arm. "I'm tired; I want to leave. Good night Granger."

Hermione waited until he was out of earshot before murmuring, "good night, Draco."

* * *

Hermione spent all her free time in the library, poring over all the books she could get hold of. Not a single one of the hundred texts told her how she could cure his arm- they only possible way to save his life was by sacrificing his limb, and she knew he would never accept that.

She tried to talk to him more often now, speaking to him directly rather than leaving messages on the table. He only spoke to her when necessary and refused all offers of butterbeer. He continued to help her at the tent, but never staying when everything was finished. He had decided a long time ago that befriending Hermione Granger would only result in bad endings. He was going to be dead within two months- opening up to her would do neither of them any good.

He didn't know when it happened, but he started finding that his eyes sought her out whenever his arms became particularly painful. He would stand underneath the cedar tree, looking down at the white tent, watching the short, brown haired woman rush in and out, arms full of medical supplies. He no longer considered her as a girl anymore. She had flourished, in his mind, into an independent, mature, thoughtful, beautiful lady who never hesitated to make her opinions known.

He was beginning to notice things that he didn't before too- the way her shoulders shook as she laughed, the way the droplets of sweat formed on her forehead when she was concentrating, the brisk walk she'd adopted, the way how her robe was always rumpled and messy. He tried not to notice these things, mentally scolding himself when he came to his senses and realised he was staring at her. It wasn't long before his face started flushing whenever she was around, with his heart thumping madly whenever she looked at him with those large brown eyes.

He could not deny it any more. He was in love with her. But that knowledge only increased the gap between them. He cast a wall between them, refusing to let her come closer. He spent more and more of his time leaning against the trunk of the tree, doing nothing but thinking.

Hermione too, soon found him irresistible. She would pause and watch whenever he ran his right hand through his blonde hair, and blushed every time he handed her wand back with those grey eyes gazing into hers. A simple brush, an accidental touch, would send shivers down her entire body. She often found herself looking out her window, seeking the shadow that was Draco, sitting beneath his tree. She not once spoke about her growing affection to her friends, for fear of what they might do to him. She, like Draco, lengthened the distance between them. She only asked for his help when no other person was available, telling herself that she did so in order for her to concentrate. But she knew that somewhere, deep inside her heart, that she distanced herself from him because she was afraid that when it was time for him to die, she would not feel guilty for having the power to save his life, would not feel sad, and would not miss him.

But one night, when everything inside the tent was cleared away, and she was helping him out of his robe, she found herself apologising to him.

"Why are you apologising?" he asked. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"I can't let you die," she whispered. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I just can't."

He knew he should walk out the tent right now, that staying with her would lead to horrifying consequences, but he remained by her side. He accepted the bottle of butterbeer from her for the first time in a month, letting her uncork the bottle before taking a few sips.

"I don't want to die," he admitted after a moment of silence, "not yet. There are so many things in my life that I haven't done yet."

She folded his robe up and placed it in the basket. "Like what?"

He sat down, staring at his useless left arm. "I haven't graduated from Hogwarts," he said quietly, "I haven't said farewell to my parents, I haven't-" he fell silent suddenly.

"You haven't… what?" Hermione felt herself holding her breath.

"Found someone who loves me," he said almost sheepishly. Then he stood up abruptly, staggering a little. "I should leave. Goodnight Hermione."

"Wait," She grabbed his right hand, which was beginning to blacken. "Just stay for a few more minutes."

"I can't," he said, avoiding her gaze, "I must go now. I'm tired."

"Then sleep here," she nodded towards the empty beds. "It's going to rain tonight. I know your room has holes in the ceiling."

He stared at her, his cheeks colouring. "I-I don't think-"

"Shut up Draco," she said, smiling. "Go to sleep."

Despite the warning bells clanging inside his head, he allowed himself to be guided to the nearest bed and laid down, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, stroking his hair. "Forgive me."

* * *

He woke up, feeling strangely blissful. It took a few moments to realise that he was not in his room, but in the Healer's tent.

His throat was awfully dry, and his shoulders were aching badly. He tried to sit up.

And found he couldn't.

He stared at the place where his arms and hands would be. Both of his limbs were amputated. His vision clouded as tears formed and flowed down freely down his cheeks.

She had saved his life, dammit! He felt like sobbing and shouting and cursing at the same time. But he could only manage to whimper.

The flap to the tent was flung open, and Hermione strode in, not aware that he'd woken up.

"You!" He yelled, somehow managing to spring out of bed. "Why did you save me? Why?"

She set down the tray she was holding onto the bed next to his. She refused to look at him. "Eat, Draco. You've been unconscious for nearly three days now."

He swallowed, trying to conjure up the foulest word he could describe her with. But he found he couldn't. Despite making him a cripple, despite saving his unwanted life, he still loved her.

And he hated himself for it.

He turned his head away so that she wouldn't be able to feed him. He squeezed his eyes shut so he couldn't see her eyes filling with tears every time he did so. He hummed loudly so he wouldn't hear her crying and begging.

"Please, Draco, eat," she pleaded, offering a piece of bread. "You'll die."

"That's what I wanted all along," he said coldly. "You've made it faster, thank you." His heart wrenched as she saw the terrible sadness in her eyes.

At last she gave up. "I will come back soon," she promised him, "and I will force you to eat."

She gently let go of the flap after watching him for a few moments. He rolled over in bed so he wouldn't see her leaving.

It was the last time he saw her in camp.

* * *

**July 14****th****, 2003**

"Draco, dear Draco," Voldemort crooned, "why do you look so sad?"

Draco tried not to flinch as the Dark Lord lifted his chin up with a bony finger. "Do you not like my present? Wormtail certainly did, didn't you?"

Wormtail gave a small nod, "Yes I did, Master. I like it very much."

Draco looked down at his new arms. They were metal, but oddly warm and moved however he wanted them to. He swallowed, "I'm not sad, Master, but very happy. Finally I have limbs again, and it's all because of you. Thank you. I am eternally in your service."

Voldemort released his grip on him, "go away," he ordered.

Draco hastened to obey.

He hated his new arms. He hated Voldemort. The only part of Hermione that remained with him was his missing limbs. She had saved his life, taught him that making sacrifices was necessary, and made him feel love. He had learned to overcome his disability, learned to understand how precious life was- and Voldemort had taken all this away from him. By giving him metal limbs, Voldemort banished Hermione, erasing her from Draco. Voldemort had tried to fill in the void which used to be his heart by sending him on numerous missions, by giving him people to interrogate, other women to use, but Draco refused every offer. This time, however, he could not refuse Voldemort, for his own life was at stake.

He had planted his own cedar tree in his garden, and it had grown tall and healthy- but it was still nowhere as grand as that cedar tree he had treasured. No matter what he did, the new cedar tree did not bring a smile to his face, nor did to alleviate his worries. He knew that the only reason why that old cedar tree meant so much to him was because Hermione was always able to find him there, and he was always able to watch her from beneath its ancient branches.

The camp was destroyed, and everybody in it had been either killed or sold into slavery. Draco was unable to help them, as he knew nothing about the attack. Bellatrix had, on her master's orders, cast a silencing charm around the tent, so that until he came out, he had no idea that the camp was under siege.

The memory still froze his blood and was the reason for many of his nightmares. The charred bodies- all ridiculously displayed, the smell of rotting flesh, the blackened buildings, the frightening silence that signified death- it seemed he would never forget all that.

"Draco!" He turned to find Crabbe waving him over.

"Yes?" He asked stiffly.

"Did you hear about the tournament?"

"No," Draco said disinterestedly.

"I've signed up for it. You should as well!"

"I'll pass," Draco said coldly. "I don't particularly enjoy fighting, particularly when they don't have any means to defend themselves by."

"No, no!" Crabbe exclaimed excitedly, "it's a tournament for us! I hear that the winner gets a prize!"

"Sorry, not interested," Draco continued walking down the corridor.

"Well, if you change your mind, Draco, tell me okay?"

"I won't," Draco promised.

Lucius was waiting in the living room when he arrived home. His father was reduced to a thin, weak man ever since his wife died.

"Draco," he croaked, extending his arms, "my son, my dear son."

Draco allowed himself to be wrapped up in the embrace, he even let his father pat him on the back a few times before he pulled away. "Father," he nodded in acknowledgement.

"The Malfoy name is falling," Lucius told him. It was all he spoke of nowadays, the ruin of the Malfoys, and ways they could restore it. Draco was sick and tired of listening to it every time he came back home, but he forced himself to listen because it was the only thing that kept Lucius alive.

"Everything is falling apart ever since Narcissa died," Lucius said, his gnarled fingers stroking Draco's hair. "I have a solution to our problem."

"Solution, father?" Draco was almost too afraid to ask.

"Yes, Draco. I have found us a solution. The reason why we have fallen is because we don't have Narcissa-"

"-father, nobody can be brought back from the dead. Accept that."

"-I know, son, I know. Have you heard about the tournament?"

"Yes." Draco shook his father off and poured himself a glass of wine. "I've heard about it."

"Then you know the prize for the winner?"

"No, I'm not interested in participating."

Lucius leapt up from the couch. "You will!" he shouted out, "you will sign up, and you will win the tournament! That is the only way to restore the Malfoy name!"

Draco closed his eyes. "What is the prize, father? How will winning this juvenile game restore the Malfoy name?"

His father's eyes gleamed with madness. "The prize is a very rare jewel indeed," he whispered, "Oh, my sweet Narcissa, do not blame me…"

Draco downed the wine in one gulp. "I will sign up for the tournament, then," He sighed, "if it makes you happy."

"Yes, you shall! Sign up for it at once!"

Draco left his father shouting at the wall, carrying the bottle of wine with him.

He would do anything to make his father happy.

* * *

**July 21****st****, 2003**

"It is done!" Lucius cried out happily. "I have signed you up!"

Draco nodded, "I see."

"Your first fight starts this afternoon- win, boy, win!"

"I will."

Draco knew he would win, because he was the only person who had lost everything worth fighting for. He was not afraid to die.

* * *

**August 4****th****, 2003**

"At long last!" The announcer cried out, "The final game! Draco Malfoy versus Theodore Nott! The winner gets to take the prize home!"

Draco bowed stiffly at Theodore, who mirrored his action. They whipped out their wand, walked ten paces away and aimed it at each other, waiting for the start signal.

"Annd Start!"

Nott was truly a formidable opponent. He sent curses with deathly accuracy, one after the other without hesitation. It took all of his energy to block and dodge him. Unlike Crabbe, Nott was intelligent. At first it seemed like he was just randomly casting spells, trying to corner him, but Draco soon realised that Nott sending him into traps. He would send a stunner to his right, making him move left, where Nott had a more powerful curse ready.

Draco wondered what the prize was, to make his father and Nott so excited.

He jumped to avoid a killer curse. The fight had started two minutes ago, and he had yet to make a move. He glanced towards where the audience sat. His father's pale face stood out from the rest of the crowd. Lucius have him a curt nod.

Draco closed his eyes, muttering a string of words that Nott couldn't understand. The very air around him seemed to grow colder, until it began to cackle with energy. Nott found himself unable to move, his eyes transfixed by Draco, who was standing calmly in the midst of the small tornado. The audience gasped as Draco's wand floated from his grasp, lighting up the entire stadium with a blinding glow.

Then he opened his eyes, sending the tornado right at Nott. "Yield," Draco commanded.

"I-I…" Nott couldn't breathe as he stared at the flowing wand.

"Yield!" Draco shouted.

"I…Yield," Nott whispered. "I yield!" He repeated louder, so that everybody could hear him.

Draco pocketed his wand, stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked away from the cheering crowd. He was disgusted in himself for resorting to dark magic. He glared at his artificial arms, wishing they would rust and fall off.

"Draco!" Voldemort smiled at him chillingly, "our little winner!"

"I could not have won without you, master," Draco managed to say.

"Would you like to see the prize?" The Dark Lord gestured for the curtain behind him to be lifted. "You have earned it, dear Draco!"

The emerald curtain behind Voldemort lifted slowly, inch by inch. Draco forced himself to smile and watch as the prize was revealed. Lucius had joined him on the podium, and was positively jumping with glee.

What was behind the curtain made him cry out.

Hermione Granger, wearing a slave's uniform, sat on a wooden chair. Their eyes met at the same time.

"Draco Malfoy!" She whispered. He saw her shoulders slump in relief. "Thank god."

"Congratulations, Mudblood," Voldemort hissed, "you have won yourself a Malfoy."

"I-I thank you," Hermione stammered, but she obviously did not meant it.

Voldemort grasped her hand and led her out so everybody could see her. He lifted her hand up. "I present the Mudblood, Hermione Granger, to Draco Malfoy!" He called out to a loud chorus of cheering and shouts.

Voldemort waited until everybody calmed down. "-Who has fought in place of his father, Lucius Malfoy. Draco, you have won her on behalf of your father, congratulations!"

Draco stared at him, dumbfounded. "What?" He whispered. He turned to Lucius, "Father, how-?"

"I signed you up, Draco," Lucius said, rubbing his hands together, "I made you my proxy! The Malfoy name will be restored now that there is a woman to take Narcissa's place. Rejoice, Draco! We will have dignity once more!"

Draco swallowed, and refused to look at Hermione. "I-I need to rest," he muttered, "I'm tired from the fight."

Without a backward glance, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away. Everybody else was rejoicing, everybody but Hermione, who was the only person to see the tears flowing down Draco Malfoy's face.

* * *

**August 6****th****, 2005**

Hermione gently closed the door to Lucius' room. She tiptoed down to Draco's room, where she found him standing by his window.

"You planted a cedar tree," she whispered, closing the door behind her.

He nodded, "It reminded me of you." He looked at her. "Are you ready?"

Hermione swallowed, "yes. Are you?"

"Of course. But before we leave, Hermione- I just wanted to say that, I'm really sorry."

She smiled, "for what?"

"For not helping you five years ago. I could've saved Weasley's and Potter's life. But I didn't."

"Just answer me this, Draco," she moved so she was standing beside him, "if Bellatrix hadn't charmed the tent, would you have fought with me? Or with Voldemort?"

He didn't answer; instead he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He had discarded Voldemort's gift in favour of Hermione's one- artificial flesh limbs. They were less durable, but more realistic. He loved them.

At last he raised an eyebrow. "What do you think I would've done?"

Hermione gave a small chuckle, "of course, it was a stupid question." She glanced towards Lucius' room. "Is it really alright for us to do this?"

Draco's eyes were steely, but his expression was calm. "Yes. I lost my father when my mother died. I think it's better for us this way."

Hermione took his hand and together they focused on their destination. They pictured a place where they would be safe and happy, far away from the evil of this world. And they travelled there, blissful, content at last.

* * *

**August 6****th****, 2025**

Scorpius Malfoy paused, quill hovering above the parchment. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. He smiled at the photograph of his parents, who were hugging and kissing each other in the photo, waving at him cheerfully. They were young in this photo- barely twenty five. The photo was taken when Scorpius was just born.

He unfolded the envelope that lay before him.

_Dear Scorpius Malfoy,_

_Hi, Scorpius. We're your parents. Our names are Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Please do not resent us for sending you away- both of us felt that raising you in a hostile and fearful environment was not a good idea. You must be all grown-up now, and would not remember our faces. We have included a photograph of ourselves- please take good care of it, because it is the only photo which has both of us in it._

_Please do not hate us for not raising you- we made sure that you were in good hands before we left. Believe us when we say that if we were able to follow you, we would've, but we couldn't. Lord Voldemort had a very firm grip of the both of us, and making sure you grew up strong, healthy and happy was all we could do. We're sorry that you have never seen us before, truly, we are._

_Today marks the day where we send you off to live with the muggles- if it provides any sort of comfort, your foster parents are relatives of your mother. Today is also the day where we leave this world for a better one._

_We ask that you do not grieve for us. Both of us will not regret our own actions. As your father once said, we value our lives by choosing our deaths. Remember this, Scorpius, it will be our only lesson for you._

_Love your forever,  
Your parents Hermione and Draco Malfoy._

_August 6__th__, 2005_

Scorpius picked up his quill and finished the story of his parents. He smiled, tucked the pieces of parchments in an envelope, and owled it to the publishers. And then went to bed.

* * *

Hermione and Draco had a son, who though had never met them before, loved them more than any son could love his parents.

_The end._

_**(Author: Scorpius Malfoy)**_

* * *

**This story was inspired, and was based off the film "Tristan and Isolde". I hope you enjoyed reading this story and that you would spare a few moments to review. Thanks**

* * *

**A BIG thank you to xellll for pointing out the mistake with the dates!**

**Also, just some more interesting information... Hermione wasn't Lucius' sex slave, though Voldemort intended her to be. Lucius was deranged and he missed Narcissa so badly that he started treating Hermione as if _she_ was Narcissa. That meant that Lucius gave Hermione the respect he would have given his wife- so Hermione was able to reject his...advances without being afraid of getting killed by him. That's how Hermione was free to have an affair with Draco, and so they both knew that Scorpius was their son, and not Lucius'.**


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